


Thing 2: Hope

by Alethia



Series: Come to Pass [2]
Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-04
Updated: 2005-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They settled into a kind of routine after that. Calleigh would show up in the early hours of the morning, toss and turn in his arms, and be gone when he woke.</p><p>It was the most selfish thing she’d ever done, coming here night after night, and he admired her for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thing 2: Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of a series of what-ifs following 3.24 “10-7.” Will make no sense if you haven’t seen that ep. Originally posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/142396.html).

When he’d walked in on that scene…Eric really hadn’t known what to say. There was nothing he _could_ say. What form of comfort can you give in the middle of a crime scene after Eric’s best friend’s ex-whatever had shot himself in the head with the gun he’d held on her a day earlier?

There were no manuals for that one.

So he’d just—been sympathetic and hadn’t pushed her and he knew he’d done everything right. But. But he didn’t feel that way.

Eric was hurrying down the halls, trying to catch up with Calleigh who he knew was just ahead of him. For all that she took her time with things, she was apparently eager to get away today. Not that he blamed her.

Ah. Spotted her. “Calleigh, wait up,” he called, breaking into a light job, thanking God for his long legs. They really came in useful some days.

And Calleigh—didn’t even protest. She stopped and waited—ever polite—but the fire wasn’t there. She just looked…sad. Defeated, maybe. It was all in the eyes; you wouldn’t know unless you did.

And oh, he did.

“Hey,” he said carefully, slowing as he got to her, gauging her mood. “I wanted to see how you were but there were so many people…” he trailed off, wondering at the complete non-reaction he was getting. This could be bad.

“Yeah. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me, Eric,” she said evenly, brushing the back of her hand across her cheek, as if brushing away a stray strand of hair. Telling gesture, that.

“And still I do. Must be the mother hen in me,” he said lightly, smiling soft and kind and getting—nothing.

Yeah, really bad.

“Why don’t we hang out?” he asked, spur of the moment. And, shit, he really hoped she didn’t get all offended and God, she probably wanted to go and _grieve_ —grieve for her dead ex with whom she’d had a ton of sex, or so he gathered—probably best not to go there and dammit, was his apartment clean?

Before she could even formulate a soft let-down, he nudged her with an elbow, kind of steering her toward their cars, telling her without telling her that this was non-negotiable.

And she caved. Not verbally, of course, but with the tired tilt of her head and the listless movements, Eric could tell. She didn’t want to have to think and it was hardly like he could blame her. But still. With Calleigh?

Really, really bad.

***

“Welcome to Chateau Delko. We have popcorn, Cheetos, all the junk food one’s heart could desire.” Nope, nothing. Granted, lame attempt at humor, but Calleigh could give him _something_.

Or no, she couldn’t, considering she’d just watched…heard…something…a guy _shoot himself in the head_. Yeah, he’d probably read somewhere that in these kinds of situations people were allowed to be totally nonresponsive. But that didn’t make him worry any less.

And would he? Worry less if she were all happy and bubbly and ‘something wrong? Me? Nah!’

Yes, there was always further to fall.

Calleigh immediately went and curled up on his—thankfully clean—couch. And that was so starkly poignant, that Calleigh could feel comfortable enough to not ask, to just assume. It was a big thing for her, propriety. If she were disregarding it with respect to him, man, that was—

He didn’t know what that was. It just was. And he had the feeling that was a good thing.

Eric busied himself getting the tea he kept around just for Calleigh, banging through cabinets and drawers, figuring Calleigh would probably welcome the noise. But who really knew?

She accepted the mug with a little start and he could tell she’d been somewhere else, back in the lab most likely, and Eric was perfectly happy to play distraction for the evening.

He sat in his spot next to her, relaxing back with his tea—only taken because he knew it would make her feel less like an imposition—and sighed. The sheer volume of crazy insane days they’d had in the last year was ridiculous. Who knew being a glorified geek would involve so many near-death experiences?

Someone should really make a movie about their team. People would _have_ to find it interesting, considering he was so terrified half the time.

Calleigh shifted restlessly and he reached a thoughtless hand out, smoothing her hair, just sitting and enjoying the quiet. If she wanted to talk—and she obviously didn’t—he just wanted to be there, ready to listen. And he wanted her to know that.

She kind of leaned into his hand, rubbing against him, sighing herself. She closed her eyes for a moment and he took the opportunity to look without being watched, to admire without being questioned for it.

Her sudden jolt upright startled him, and it was with a raised eyebrow that he watched as she very deliberately put down her mug and turned to him.

Eric pasted on an understanding, sympathetic face, setting his own tea aside. This was where he played the good friend, listening to all her regrets about Hagen, nodding understandingly at the anger, and comforting in an utterly platonic and just-friends kinda way.

Or Calleigh could crawl into his lap and pin him against the back of the couch. “Calleigh—what—mph…” He didn’t get to finish that one because before he knew it she had his face framed with her hands and her lips pressing against his—urgent, desperate, and a little bit torn.

Eric grasped at the couch for a second, not really believing…but that was a tongue unabashedly tracing his bottom lip and yeah, this was real.

He opened his mouth to protest…and got his first proper taste of her thus far, of tea and Calleigh and of sadness somehow.

Life was so fucking unfair sometimes.

Eric gently got a hand on her shoulder and even more gently pushed her back, dragging in a couple breaths to steady his resolve and hold firm.

And oh, how firm did he want to hold.

But no. Strong.

“That’s probably not the best idea,” he finally managed, and whoa, he’d surprised her there.

Calleigh tried to lean in again, whispering, “I think it is,” but Eric managed to evade her and turn his body, forcing her to gracefully flop onto the couch beside him, looking at him as if he’d grown another head.

Yeah, Eric turning down sex. A shock for the ages, probably.

Oooh, bitterness. But it was his own fault; he was totally to blame for everyone’s opinions of him and his sex life.

Kinda sad, though, especially when it was so totally nonexistent these days.

Calleigh sighed and hung her head, and in that moment Eric really did hurt for her, even if she was trying to use him to make the pain go away. Talk about avoidance, but that was Calleigh for you. He put a comforting hand to her neck, rubbing lightly, telling her without telling her that it was okay, they were okay.

“I’m going to go,” she finally said, breaking the rather contemplative silence that had descended.

“You don’t have to,” he said solemnly, resolving to put—that—behind him and _stop_ curling his other hand into the couch, anything to keep it from pulling her close again. The hand still on the back of her neck, shifting as she looked up at him, was temptation enough.

She just looked at him, eyes blank again, before smiling the hollowest smile he’d ever seen. “See you later, Eric.” And she was gone.

Eric leaned back against the couch. And breathed.

***

The knock at two twenty-seven a.m. wasn’t unexpected. Calleigh crawling fully dressed into bed with him was slightly more so.

The fact that she wasn’t there the next morning? Utterly unsurprising.

***

They settled into a kind of routine after that. Calleigh would show up in the early hours of the morning, toss and turn in his arms, and be gone when he woke. Sometimes he’d wait up for her, two cups of tea sitting calmly on his coffee table. Other times he’d catch a few hours of sleep first, awakened by the tapping at the door.

It was the most selfish thing she’d ever done, coming here night after night, and he admired her for it. And if she’d needed any proof that his slut days were over, well, showing up to him tragically alone every night would do it.

Not that he stayed alone, of course, what with Calleigh showing up at all hours.

It was weird—before, he used to see her every day in real life and then later in his dreams. Now he saw her every night in real life and his mind wandered to her during the day.

‘Temporary leave,’ that’s what the department called it. No one blamed her for it. No one could, not without looking like a jackass, though Eric was surprised Ryan hadn’t said anything. Kid obviously didn’t mind playing that part.

But it meant he was getting much less sleep and so on those rare nights when her ghosts got to be too much, when she did try something in bed with him, he didn’t have the strength to totally push her away, didn’t have the strength to resist leaning in, and taking just a taste of what was offered, kissing her back like the needy, pathetic man he’d become.

It never went further, though. He always pushed her back and she smiled apologetically, knowing she was pressing too far.

And that was how it was.

Of course, one really inconvenient side-effect of all this sleeping and tossing and turning and the scent of Calleigh clinging to his sheets was just—she was everywhere. The lab reminded him of her, his _bedroom_ reminded him of her, and that was…that was slightly more than just inconvenient.

It was starting to worry him. He was hard _all the time_. Anything could turn him on—his bathroom, where Calleigh had been, his bed, obvious that, the _ballistics lab_. Hagen had _died_ in there.

His dick? Did not care.

Eric hadn’t jerked off this much since he was seventeen and randy as a goat. That routine paralleled his and Calleigh’s: wake up, smell Calleigh, jerk off. Go to lab, be hard all day, come home, jerk off. Late at night, prepare for Callegh coming over, make time to jerk off before she did.

Pathetic. And it was all over his grieving best friend who came to his place only when she was having a rough night. Which happened to be every night.

He was dirty and pitiful and he couldn’t seem to help himself. Or garner enough energy to care.

***

“I miss it,” Calleigh said roughly, turned away from him, unnaturally still and Eric knew she hadn’t slept at all in the hours she’d been there.

“You should come back,” he answered, turning off his back and toward her, fingering the sheets that pooled under her arms. “We all miss you.”

There was a long pause. Eric would have thought she’d fallen asleep but for her uneven breathing. “I don’t trust myself.”

He furrowed his brow, knowing she couldn’t see it, and settled closer to her, sighting a lock of hair and fingering it idly. “Why?” Oddly enough, she seemed more inclined to talk to him when he couldn’t see her, when she didn’t have to face him. He didn’t know how to feel about that.

“I didn’t—I could have figured it out. I’m an expert; I should have known what that gun was. And I could have talked to him, brought it up before he—he—”

“Calleigh…” Eric trailed off. He didn’t even know where to _begin_. And he had to say something, couldn’t keep floundering like an idiot, especially when she was finally ready to bring it up.

“As much as you’re going to hate hearing this, you can’t control everything. Hagen had bigger problems than you.” He felt her stiffen beside him and he really hadn’t meant that to sound like she didn’t figure into any of it… “Look, maybe in his mind the end of your relationship was bigger than it was in yours. But it wasn’t just you and it wasn’t your fault. Otherwise normal people don’t just go and kill themselves because they were dumped. And you can’t know what everyone’s thinking—”

“But I could have listened. And I didn’t.” She’d turned over, looking at him with wide eyes—getting over that reticence to face him, apparently—and in the dark light he still couldn’t tell what she was feeling. He’d just have to wing it and hope for the best.

“You tried to. You offered to.” That, at least, he’d gotten out of her, not that the admission had helped. She just felt even more culpable because of it.

Calleigh was shaking her head, silver light from outside moving with her hair. “He came to me. Earlier.”

That made Eric pause, consider his next words carefully: “You didn’t tell me that.” Couldn’t keep the hurt from his voice and yeah, way to totally miss the issue. But dammit, she hadn’t told him that. And it was kind of a big deal.

“A while back. Said he didn’t want it to be over.”

Cold fear seeped into Eric’s chest. If she’d wanted—and he wouldn’t have even known about it until after the fact—but no, she’d said no.

He was suddenly glad he hadn’t known; there was no way in hell he could have been objective if she’d actually wanted to _talk_ about it, _consider_ it, ask his opinion.

And yet—he just wanted to know everything about her, even if it was bad. Especially then.

But this line of thinking led to _other_ lines of thinking and no. He wasn’t going there.

Eric regained himself with effort and shook his head again. “And the outcome would still have been the same. He wanted something you didn’t and you’re not responsible for that. You couldn’t have been his lifeline.”

“Couldn’t I?” she asked, turning her back to him again, hiding.

“No,” he murmured, moving in closer and draping a tentative arm over her waist. He breathed out when she didn’t reject the move, and Eric pulled her closer, cradling her against his chest. “You can’t save people from themselves, Calleigh.” 

The specter of her father bloomed between them and while he really hadn’t meant that, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Because, though she still tried with him, she’d come to a measure of peace about his problems. And why she couldn’t yet do that with Hagen…

Probably best not to think too hard on that. Time would probably help, for all that it was so slowly slipping by.

Silence descended again, but there was still something—

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” he asked lowly, not realizing until now that yes, it did bother him. More than he’d like to admit, though he probably just had.

Calleigh pulled tight again and this close to her he could feel it as well as anything. 

“I didn’t—want you worried,” she said finally, still tense and meaning she wasn’t telling the whole truth. Worried. That wouldn’t have been his only reaction. Or even his first one.

More like blind panic, disbelief, and probably some righteous anger in there, too. Because if she were even _considering_ it, that would have meant she—was considering it. And that did not work into Eric’s Grand Plan, not that it was so grand, nor was it a plan so much as an outline…but still.

Worried. Hmm.

“You only hurt each other,” he offered, why, he didn’t know. But he felt the need to explain and it was true. Calleigh’d been different with Hagen and Eric hadn’t liked it so much.

Granted, there were so _many_ reasons for that, not all of them about _Calleigh’s_ well-being. But it was in the past.

She nodded eventually and didn’t respond, instead wrapping fingers loosely around his arm, settling into him like she’d been doing it forever. Eric closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the warmth. “Come back to work. It’ll help,” he heard himself say, and he didn’t know where it came from, but couldn’t deny it was what he wanted.

Calleigh paused again, and Eric could tell that whatever it was, it was hard for her to—“It reminds me of him. The lab,” she clarified, as if he’d needed it.

Eric rested his forehead against her hair, breathing her in slowly. “I know,” he said finally, screwing up his courage. “But you’ll have to face it sometime. And the Calleigh I know wouldn’t flinch from that.”

She didn’t answer, but he could feel the sudden tension in her muscles, the rejection of the implication that she was being weak. He—hadn’t meant that. She was _allowed_ to be weak.

Eric just wanted the old Calleigh back.

“Stay ‘til morning,” he tried again, cajoling. “Come to work with me. You don’t have to stay the whole time, but. See how it feels.”

She didn’t answer that, either.

***

When Eric awoke she was still there, curled up in his arms. He smiled.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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